Everything he’d done for her and Charlie evidenced dedication and commitment. He’d shown he could be counted on and trusted. Couldn’t she have at least taken his word about the bottle?
She slowed the mare to a walk and fanned herself with her hat. Sweat dampened her underarms and back. Sleeves rolledto her elbows, her bare forearms soaked in the sun. What did it matter that her skin wasn’t pearly white? She had no hope of competing with a city girl like Olivia Edmondson, especially after she’d practically slammed the door in Ben’s face.
The day he’d left, she’d discovered one of his two journals lying atop the quilt she’d loaned him. Had he left it to share a deeply personal part of himself with her, or was it merely because she was Jeb’s sister, and it contained a portion of Jeb’s story as well? She could only hope he’d come back to retrieve it someday.
In the four weeks since his departure, she’d started sleeping with the journal beneath her pillow, praying every night for the man who had endured so much. The small script, written so as to conserve paper, utilized every white space on the page, a challenge to decipher, but it was the descriptions of the hardships and deprivations Ben and Jeb had suffered that tore her heart.
If Ben were here now, she’d wrap her arms around him and never let go.
If he could see her eyes now, he’d know she was sorry, and that her love would win out over all misgivings. She didn’t need to behold the bottle to believe him.
Her horse snorted.
An eagle circled overhead, sailing on the wind. Suddenly, it dove. Grass parted a hundred yards ahead. A hare bounded through the thick tassels. Talons extended, the eagle swooped in and snatched the rabbit from the ground. A squeal pierced the quiet. Cora followed the bird with her gaze as it pumped its wings and retook the sky with its prey dangling beneath.
As her gaze returned to earth, she startled. A rider sat atop the nearest hill. An Indian. Chest bare and wearing nothing but a breechclout, he held his lance upward, resting the base on the ground.
Her stomach dropped. Two weeks prior in Jack County, a Comanche raiding party had struck two farms, stealing horses from the corral and killing the cattle. A farmer who’d tried to stop them ended up with arrows in his gut and his scalp missing.
She gripped the reins in one hand and slowly drew her Enfield rifle out of its scabbard with her other hand. Was the warrior alone, or was there a raiding party on the other side of the bluff? Her heart pounded. If she turned and fled right now, she might have time to get away, but Comanches could outride anyone on the plains, and the Kiowa weren’t far behind. Even if she made it to the palisade, no guarantee she’d have time to lock it. And who knew if Charlie would be inside or out? She wouldn’t risk drawing the one Indian or many to the boy.
Back stiff and a prayer on her lips, she held the loaded Enfield across her lap, ready to snatch the butt to her shoulder in a blink.
The warrior nudged his horse forward at a trot. “Haa.” His voice boomed across the prairie.
The Comanche equivalent ofhello. Still, her fingers twitched to raise the rifle. A greeting meant nothing. She might only get one shot, or she might accidentally start a fight that could have been avoided.
Down the hill and across the creek, he rode. His face unpainted, his long braids flapped against his muscular chest. Wolf Heart?
Her finger eased off the trigger.
Driving his black mustang to a lope, the man closed the distance between them, coming to a stop twenty or thirty feet from her. Three eagle feathers hung from his scalp lock. Creases spread out from the corners of his eyes, and a scar marred his right cheek.
He nodded toward the Enfield. She loosened her grip on the weapon.
“Where is one called Ben?” He lifted his cleft chin. A bow string lay across his chest, and a quiver hung from his shoulder. Another scar marred his breast.
“He had to travel far away toward the sunrise to a place called Pennsylvania. His father is greatly ill. Might die.”
His hooded, dark eyes studied her from head to toe. “Not winter yet. And he is gone.”
“He will be back as soon as he can.” She leaned forward on her horse. The threat was more subtle than the spear, but it was there. Charlie’s future rested on her words. “Charlie is helping me on the ranch. He is my protector. The man of the family for now.”
“Tsssk. The boy needs a father to teach him.”
“Ben will be back. His father is ill. The duty must go both ways. He has responsibility to Charlie and to his father.”
“Hmmpf.” Wolf Heart nudged his mount to the right and walked the mustang in a full circle around her.
Her tongue felt like sandpaper, but she sat tall. She had a knife strapped to her thigh if he attempted to misuse her.
“What about Cora? What responsibility to Cora?” His circle complete, he aimed his gaze into hers.
There was only one safe answer. “Ben will return to make me his wife.”
“Has not done it?” A glow lit his eyes. “Cowboy is slow. Too slow?”
“He wisely chose to wait until he’s finished caring for his father.” Until he could find a woman who would trust him.
